


Johnlock Advent 2015 - Gifts

by NerdyMind



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Advent Calendar, But it will get a bit sad in the middle, Canon Temporary Character Death, Christmas, Fluff and Angst, In the spirit of advent I don't want to spoil anything, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2015-12-25
Packaged: 2018-05-04 06:49:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 26
Words: 5,819
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5324567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdyMind/pseuds/NerdyMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The story of how John and Sherlock got together as told by an exchanging of gifts.<br/>____<br/>Just like <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/2700776/chapters/6044420">last year</a>, I will be posting 221 words a day until the tale is complete on the 25th~!</p><p>Happy Holidays, I love you. xx</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shopping

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Dec 11th ~

Sherlock followed John into the marketplace, pink nose and watery eyes peeking over his scarf as he stood behind a rather gaudy reindeer display spying on said flatmate. Christmas was only two weeks off and desperation for gift ideas had driven him to flitting between festive booths as John browsed the shops and chatted up attractive cashiers.

Each time the doctor laid a finger on anything, Sherlock’s mind was alight with slapdash deductions. _Is that a gift for someone else or something which caught John’s eye? Tempting bauble or an item he really needs?_ So far, John was a disappointing pinnacle of selflessness, shopping only for others.

“Damn,” Sherlock let the curse out in a puff of hot air, pulling his coat collar up over his frost nibbled ears and shrinking further behind a row of plastic candy canes. Night had fallen and his body let out a shiver of protest. “Just pick something!” Sherlock screamed internally.

Externally.

John turned, squinting at the gingerbread house and molded plastic candies across from him. He tilted his head, eyeing the shadows between passing shoppers suspiciously. Sherlock held his breath.

After a beat, a pigeon flew past Sherlock’s hiding spot and landed on a candy cane, disrupting the dusting of snow from its perch. John smiled, shook his head and continued up the path.


	2. Duvet

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Dec 22nd ~

_Three days._ Sherlock glared at the glowing calendar of his phone. John had finished shopping yesterday evening without a single glance to anything for himself. Well, not anything Sherlock could purchase without human rights violations. He wondered idly if one could gift wrap a barista when the front door opened.

“Sherlock?” John called out.

“Bedroom,” Sherlock answered, letting his phone fall to his chest.  
John entered cautiously, then looked down and pursed his lips at the pajama clad man before him. “Are you feeling ill?” he crossed the room, pulling back the curtain and flooding the small space in afternoon light.

Sherlock rolled away from the window with a groan, encasing himself in a duvet cocoon of darkness.

John rolled his eyes and laughed. The soft lilting chuckle that too often filled Sherlock’s insides with a warmth he couldn’t explain. He pulled the duvet tighter around himself and groaned louder. The bed shifted as John settled beside his balled up flatmate. A gentle hand ghosted on his shoulder, just a brush of contact. “If you’re not dying, can you come out front and help me wrap gifts for the party?”

Without a word, Sherlock rolled over and walked into the sitting room. Where he deposited himself to the carpet beside the tree, duvet and all.

A soft chuckle followed him out.


	3. Bauble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Dec 22nd cont. ~

“Now, before we begin,” John smiled and handed the duvet monster a small red bag, “I got you a little something as well.”

“John,” the muffled comforter complained, though one pale hand snaked out and snatched his gift just the same, “Christmas isn’t for another three days and--”

“Just open it, Sherlock.” John rolled his eyes, his smile never faltering.

Sherlock shifted the duvet to pool at his waist, and settled the gift bag in his lap. With one last look to John for permission, he peeked inside then upended the contents to his palm.

The bauble was small but dense. A silver diamond suspended from a fine gold ribbon. Its face a polished mirror finish with engraved filigree echoing the wallpaper of their sitting room. On the back was the year in a fancy script and, below it, their address. “221B,” Sherlock read aloud, tracing the outline with his thumb.

“It’s for the tree,” John’s cheeks lit up in a soft blush and he suddenly found the pilling lint balls of his right jumper sleeve most fascinating. “I thought.. seeing as this is our first Christmas together, we should have a memento.. that is.. should we have more Christmases.. down the um--”

“It’s lovely,” Sherlock managed before retreating to his mind to scream and wail and collapse into a puddle.


	4. Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Dec 24th ~

“Sherlock, everyone will be here in an hour,” John stood in the hall staring down his flatmate’s bedroom door. Convincing himself, for the third time, that Christmas parties were not an acceptable reason to kick a door in.

“Just a moment, John,” Sherlock shouted back. “Why don’t you go.. check the tinsel or something. I’ll be out in a moment.”

“Check the tin-- what are you doing in there?”

“Nothing illegal. Now _go away_.”

John threw his hands up in defeat and returned to the kitchen. One more glass of wine was fine, a host should be a bit more bubbly, yeah? He checked the nibbles and crisps half-heartedly, distracted by the sounds of tape and paper coming from beyond Sherlock’s door.

Sherlock had disappeared from the flat that morning, without explanation, only to return moments before guests were meant to arrive and hole himself up in his bedroom. John took another sip and leaned forward to peer around the corner. He considered slipping down the hall, to the bathroom, where he could peek through the frosted glass--

“Finished!” Sherlock burst from the back room, all smiles and confidence. In three large strides he was in the kitchen, plucking the wine glass from John’s hand and replacing it with a blue box. “Now you may appease your curiosity. Happy Christmas, John.”


	5. Blue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Dec 24th cont ~

Bouncing with excitement, Sherlock watched John’s reaction unfold before him. Wrinkles pulling at the corners of navy eyes as John’s brow knit together.

John cleared his throat and looked up. “Sherlock, we already exchanged gifts. Last night, remember?”

“No no,” Sherlock gave a dismissive wave, “the scarf was from Mrs. Hudson, I removed the label.”

“You what? Why?”

“Unimportant. You enjoyed her gift, yes? I’m sure she will be pleased to hear so this evening between bouts of celebrity gossip. Now please, open my gift so that I may get dressed.”

John opened his mouth to speak, a criticism clawing its way forward.

But the gift was so beautifully wrapped, loving attention in every fold of paper and curl of ribbon. If this was why Sherlock had dashed off before dawn, then he deserved thanks. “Alright then,” John decided, carefully peeling back the wrapping.

Inside was a dark blue jumper with red and white accents. John held it up, confused a moment. This was not Sherlock’s taste. Not in the slightest. In fact, it was exactly the sort of jumper John would buy for himself and Sherlock would _accidentally_ destroy the following day.

“Is it.. good?” a quiet voice asked behind him.

“Yes. Thank you, Sherlock,” John turned and smiled, all sincerity, “I’ll wear it tonight.”

“You don’t–”

“I want to.”


	6. Glass

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Dec 24th - 25th ~

Shattered.

Their eyes met for the briefest second before Sherlock shut him out. Door closed.

John had hoped the Woman’s incessant texting was over, but after a bit not good deduction the moaning was back. Sherlock stormed off, souring everyone on festivities. Party put on pause. There was a dead body.

But of course it had been _her_ body.

Now John was stuck alone in the flat. Cleaning up the mess and trying his best to stop drinking. His date had stormed off in a huff once John got the news that Christmas was canceled. Everyone else took the sound of her stomping downstairs as the signal to clear out.

“He needs you,” Mycroft said, no room in his tone for debate.

John did as asked, hiding every danger night contraband he could find and resumed his post by the fire. Busying his hands with a book to avoid the bottle. The fairy lights around their window looked dimmer, as if they too could feel Sherlock’s absence. And though he felt more than warm and less than festive, John could not bring himself to change out of his jumper nor switch off the lights. It was still Christmas. No dominatrix with a detective fetish was going to ruin that.

John watched the streetlights flicker and die.

_Okay, maybe one more glass._


	7. Brittle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Jan 1st ~

Sherlock carefully packed each bauble, saving the new one for last. John’s ornament earned an extra layer of wrapping and a third of bubblewrap. He taped the boxes closed, settling them back beneath the stairs beside the lights and tinsel. Returning to the flat, Sherlock stood a moment before the bare tree. Its browned and brittle edges no more than kindling now.

Holidays passed, John was needed back in the clinic to wipe runny noses and prescribe cough drops. And despite his desire to discuss the secrets revealed just days ago, John dashed off with barely a word of goodbye. Leaving Sherlock to sort the flat, and his feelings, alone.

Of course he’d overheard them.

_**Look at us both.** _

_Both? What did she mean both? And where was the rebuttal?_ Sherlock had craned his neck around the corner, hoping to deduce something-- anything-- from John’s face. His flatmate’s silence ringing in his ears when that damned ringtone interrupted.

 _Surely she wasn’t implying that John had.. feelings for him. Ludicrous._ Sherlock absentmindedly brushed his fingers over the dying tree. Pine needles raining to the carpet as he was lost in thought. _The Woman. Professional. Excels in deducing client desires. Claimed John was in love with me moments after meeting us._ _Could she really--_

“Sherlock?”

He jerked back to reality.

John was home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting this one a bit early as I need to sleep and ao3 has no queue system D:


	8. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Jan 1st cont ~

“Finished boxing?” John asked from the door, removing his gloves. He shook the snow from his fringe, “You could have waited, you know.”

“I don’t mind,” Sherlock found a smile and stepped forward to take John’s things.

“Thank you,” John fidgeted, uncomfortable with the proximity. Hands fumbling to hand over coat and scarf. He cleared his throat and stepped back. Watching in silence as Sherlock carefully hung each item near the fire.

“Did you--”

“How was--”

They laughed and tried again. Sherlock gesturing to John, “You first.”

“Did you eat today?”

“Not yet,” Sherlock said. “Thai?”

“Perfect,” John settled to his chair, chasing the chill from his bones.

“I was going to ask how work was,” Sherlock set the takeaway menu beside John, “but the answer is written in your face.”

“Go on,” John sat back, laughing. “What’s wrong with my face then?”

“Nothing,” Sherlock whispered to himself, curling up in his own chair, “it’s perfect.”

John’s eyes went wide for a brief moment before he snatched the menu up and busied himself with the list of curries. After a long moment he cleared his throat and handed the menu back to Sherlock. “Number four for me please, you how I like it. Going to pop in the shower if you’ll order?”

“Of course,” Sherlock managed, his smile faded and gone.


	9. Perfect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Jan 6th ~

A week later found Sherlock celebrating his birthday. Well, celebrating was an overstatement. Sat alone in his pyjamas, curled up beneath a wrinkled blue dressing gown and staring into the fire, decidedly _not_ sulking.

John wasn’t home and Mrs. Hudson had gone to Sheffield to see family. Sherlock’s own family was busy traipsing about on holiday. And even though Mycroft had called, what good was a birthday if Mycroft was the highlight?

Sherlock let his legs unfold and stretched until a deep groan tumbled forth. He didn’t even like parties. Or cake. Or--

“Sherlock, are you home?” John bounded up the steps, taking them two at a time. “Oh good, there you are,” he beamed down at his flatmate and held up two bags, “I come bearing gifts.”

“Goodie,” Sherlock smiled sarcastically and rose from his chair. “I suppose you’ll want me to change--”

“No,” John laughed. Flushing pink at the sight of bare skin between Sherlock’s rumpled tee and loose trousers. “You look fine, that is...”

“Oh?” Sherlock stepped closer, “I look fine?”

John held the gifts up between them as a barrier. “We’re staying in,” he laughed nervously.

Sherlock peeked inside the bags, “Cluedo and wine?”

“Is that...okay?”

Sherlock smiled, his heart bursting to say how much it meant to him. But only one word slipped free, “Perfect.”


	10. Self-inflicted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Jan 6th cont ~

“Any guesses yet, detective?” John slurred, leaning across the table.

“Consulting detective,” Sherlock corrected. “I do have one theory,” he shuffled his cards, “But..”

“But what,” John sat back, reaching for and frowning at his empty glass.

“No, it’s nothing,” Sherlock waved him off and took John’s glass, pouring more wine for each of them. “Let me see the rule book.”

“What?” John grabbed the instruction insert and hid it beneath his bum.   "I know the rules, just tell me."

“John, please.”

“No. Just tell me.”

“You’ll laugh.”

“I won’t laugh.”

Sherlock sat back defeated, taking in a deep breath. “What if Doctor Black wasn’t murdered?”

“Wh-- what??? You think he just kipped off for a holiday? Playing Hide and Seek with the help? He’s dead, Sherlock. His body was at the base of the stairs and now we’re here to investigate. That’s the entire--”

“No,” Sherlock placed a finger over John’s lips to silence him. “No. I mean he took his own life.”

Let it be known that Doctor John Watson, man of his word, did maintain a straight face for all of three seconds. Until laughter bubbled out around Sherlock’s finger and the detective slumped back to his chair with a pout.

“I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” John grinned, replacing the tingle of Sherlock’s touch with more wine.


	11. Missing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ March 31st ~

Sherlock didn’t do well with people. Sure, he could manipulate them for a case. Or fun, if he was really bored. But social engagements were messy. He couldn’t stop himself from being, well, himself.

Then there was his flatmate.

John would order takeaway online just to avoid phoning. But some days he went through these.. moods, where he fought his instincts and forced himself to interact with others. Mike would ring up, or Gavin, dragging him out with the lads. Once, an Army comrade popped in London for the weekend and insisted he show them round.

Sherlock was always invited and always declined. But this was the first time he’d felt guilt.

John’s birthday dinner.

Greg called four times trying to persuade him, “At least come say hello. Have a pint. John deserves that much, surely.”

“More,” Sherlock caught himself saying. But he couldn’t retract the truth. “I’ll think of something.”

* * *

John returned home just past two a.m. Tipsy and cradling a slice of cake wrapped in cellophane.

“Sherlock?”

No reply. He shrugged and went upstairs, determined to drown in his pillow.

But when he flopped down, something crinkled and stuck him in the cheek. One sleepy eye opened to find Sherlock’s familiar script on a small white tag, **_John_**.

John smiled, hugged the gift to his chest, and fell asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've decided to add time stamps/dates to each chapter as it will jump around quite a bit going forward.


	12. Gold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ May 20th ~

“She’s coming over tonight and you’ve nothing?”

“You got her something, just put both our names on.”

John’s stance widened, fists balled at his hips as he leveled Sherlock with a glare.

“John, I don’t see--”

“Get your coat.”

“What?”

“We’re going out, now.” John sealed the final word with a nod, crossing to the sofa to put his shoes on.

Sherlock opened his mouth to protest but snapped it shut. Apparently, Mrs. Hudson’s birthday was a national emergency.

* * *

“We’re meant to be looking for a bottle of Kasbah Nights. Put those back.”

“I was only looking,” Sherlock whined, pulling the black leather gloves from his fingers with an exaggerated eye roll.

John tried to stay upset, but a giggle betrayed his amusement. Sherlock was adorable like this. “They do look nice on you,” he conceded. “Perhaps for your birthday. Or Christmas, yeah?”

Sherlock smiled and set the gloves back on the rack. “Fine. Why don’t you go speak to the nice young lady behind the counter while I check over there?”

“What? No. That’s not...” John flustered but Sherlock had already gone.

He wasn’t far, secreted just around the corner. Watching in fascination as the cashier wrapped a small gold box. John had his own wandering eye and when Sherlock caught on, he’d resolved to get Christmas shopping done early.


	13. Dust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ June 2nd ~

“Dust is eloquent,” Sherlock swiped at the bookshelf, shifting each volume and looking for any break in the line.

“What’s he on about?” Mrs. Hudson turned to John for explanation only to get shrugged shoulders.

John wished he knew, but the last few days had flown by so swiftly. Moriarty and his lies keeping them on their toes. Neither man could catch their breath, much less have a conversation.

A flicker of gold caught his eye and Sherlock stilled a moment, turning to make sure John hadn’t seen. He pushed the small box aside. Secreting it further behind his nicked copy of _Moby Dick_ , when another glint drew his eye to a higher shelf.

“Cameras,” Sherlock said, extracting the small device and holding it up for all to see. “We’re being watched.”

“What?” Mrs. Hudson ran off in a fright as John squinted at the tiny camera.

Sherlock cast one last glance to the bookshelf, checking to ensure his gift remained hidden. One small secret in the growing list of lies he’d been feeding John lately. And now that the game appeared set to take a dark turn, he was torn. Dying to confide the truth. But Sherlock didn’t want John in danger. His life held up as a bargaining chip like it was back at the pool.

So he lied.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry today was a bit later. I was exhausted! Ch 14 will be up at midnight.


	14. Escape

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Sept 23rd ~

Sherlock teetered on the edge of the roof, his coat billowing behind, “Goodbye, John.”

“No! Sherlock!”

John woke in a cold sweat, tangled in sheets and gasping. It had barely been three months since Sherlock’s death. Three months since John told a slab of black stone the things he should have said to the man.

Three months since the nightmares began.

No chance of falling back asleep, John went downstairs and put the kettle on. He lit a fire and reached for the remote before pausing. Telly never took his mind off. So much crime in the news, everything reminded him of Sherlock. He needed proper escape.

What John wanted was a drink. But Mrs. Hudson had scrubbed the flat of all alcohol months ago and Mycroft made sure everyone in a ten mile radius would not sell to him.

John groaned, running a clammy hand down his face and walking to the bookshelf. He ran his fingers across the spines, searching. Medical dictionaries, Victorian periodicals, an alarming number of books on apiology.

“Ah,” John said, spying an old birthday gift from Harry, “I was wondering where--” the kettle interrupted and he dropped the book to his chair.

Returning moments later with tea and a blanket, John settled in to read. A worn copy of _Moby Dick_ propped on his lap.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1\. temporary faked death, per canon. ;* you know I'd never kill him.  
> 2\. Happy endings. ALWAYS. xx


	15. Clues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ November 5th ~

The box drew his attention immediately. Displayed in the shop window so carelessly, like it wasn’t a dagger through his heart. It was ridiculous really, he’d no one to play with at the safehouse, but his feet carried him inside just the same.

“Cluedo molim,“ Sherlock laid a wad of crinkled dinar on the counter and left without waiting for change.

* * *

“John, are you sure it’s okay--”

“I’m a big boy, Greg. I can handle myself,” John pointedly tossed back the rest of his drink.

“You know I’m just looking out for you. We all--”

“Let me stop you right there,” John set his glass down on the bar. “I know you all mean well. But it’s Bonfire Night and all I want is to think about something else for a few hours. Now, let’s go watch some fireworks, please?”

Lestrade shrugged and stood to slip his coat back on. “Alright.”

* * *

Sherlock pulled the box from his jacket and placed it beside the fire. He grabbed a dusty old blanket from the floor and wrapped it around himself. Staring into the fire and wondering what John was up to that evening. Hoping Mycroft was keeping his promise.

* * *

“John!” Lestrade gave chase, winding between the crowd of revelers.

“Shit,” John slammed his fist to a wall. “It’s not… It’s never him.”


	16. Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Dec 25th ~

“Happy Christmas, Sherlock.”

John’s left hand twitched, clenching and unclenching. In his right was a sealed envelope, a single name in thick black script. “Listen, I know you’ll never see this. I know. Logically, I understand that you’re.. you..,” he paused for air, turning the letter over in his hand. The tremors were getting worse, tears pooling on his lashes.

“My mind knows, but my heart.. God.. this is from my heart, Sherlock. It’s yours, really. Ever since we met. I’m sorry..” he couldn’t finish. 

John knelt and set the note beside Sherlock’s headstone, securing it in place with a small rock. He stood and dusted the grass from his knees. Self-consciously looking around. John felt a bit childish, writing to a ghost on Christmas. Asking for the impossible. But he didn’t care. He had to believe that somehow Sherlock would deliver himself back from beyond the grave. “Please,” he whispered, “just one more miracle.”

A shadow watched him from the tree line. Watched as John’s shoulders shook with silent tears. Watched as he stiffened, squared his back and walked away.

The letter fluttered against the breeze, waving hello as the figure approached. He knelt, delicately shifting the stone and plucking the envelope up with black leather gloves. Stolen words pocketed to his coat as he disappeared back among the trees.


	17. Hiding

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ Dec 25th cont ~

Sherlock held his breath. The splintered walls of his hiding spot digging into his shoulders. Gunshots and yelling echoed above and he wished his heart would stop beating so loudly. Surely someone must hear him. He thought of all the evidence he’d left upstairs. Scuff prints from oversized winter boots. Fibers from the grey scarf he’d been wearing when last seen in public. The folded carpet displaced in his haste to hide.

“He’s not here, let’s round back to that mill up the road.” Footsteps receded overhead. Engines sparking to life and rambling back down the gravel road until the night was silent once more.

For once, Sherlock was thankful the world’s supply of henchmen lacked keen observation skills.

He pulled the drab green coat tighter around his body, adjusting his position to sleep for the night. His stomach growled in protest and Sherlock wondered what John would say if he could see how thin he’d become.

_John._

The single word pulled him further into his mind. Retreating for the evening to his counterfeit Baker Street. He settled to his chair, Mrs. Hudson’s blanket draped across his legs. The flat awash with fairy lights and mince pies and mulled wine and laughter. And John. Always John.

Sherlock sighed and settled into the dream. A sleepy whisper to noone, “Happy Christmas, John.”


	18. Haunted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ January 1st ~

Mrs. Hudson walked upstairs like she was trespassing in a mausoleum. Every creaky board giving her pause. She settled the tray of tea and finger sandwiches in the kitchen and waited.

John stared into the fireplace, lost in thought. He’d been there for hours. Huddled around the only source of warmth and light in this place he used to call home. Now it was just a living reminder of everything he’d lost.

“Ella says I need to move on,” John spoke at last, acknowledging his landlady’s presence.

“Whatever is best for you dear,” Mrs. Hudson moved the tray of nibbles to the table beside John. Hovering a moment, unsure whether it was too soon to sit in Sherlock’s seat.

John sighed, turned to take his mug and offer her an empty smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Happy New Year, Mrs. H.”

“And to you, Doctor Watson,” she smiled, trying so very hard to be cheerful for him.

“John, please,” he corrected. “You’ve known me long enough.”

She nodded in agreement and waited for John to take a bite before serving herself.

“I don’t know how much longer I can stay,” he muttered more to himself than his guest.

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

Mrs. Hudson sipped at her tea, wondering how she could possibly rent the flat now that it was haunted.


	19. Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ May 3rd ~

“John,” Mrs Hudson stood in the doorway, “you don’t have to go you know.”

“We’ve been through this,” John said, taping and stacking another box. “I do.”

“Is it the money? Mycroft paid for the next two years. He said you could-”

“No.”

“But-”

“Please.. I can’t,” John slumped to his chair, face in his hands. He took a deep breath to steady his nerves and looked back up. “I can’t stay here. I need to be on my own again.”

“That just sounds so lonely, dear.”

“Well,” John scoffed and sat back. He couldn’t say what he was thinking. _Better lonely than dead. Better waking up screaming where no one can hear me. Better an empty house than living with his ghost._ “I’ll still come round. I promise.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Mrs. Hudson patted him on the arm, giving him a sad smile and a small squeeze of the shoulder before leaving.

John waited a moment before getting back to work. He folded another box and carried it across the room to the bookshelf. Placing his copy of Moby Dick inside, he fetched an office chair to pull his medical journals down from the top shelf.

“Tall prick,” John huffed, stepping up.

Something shiny drew his eye. A small gold box with a white tag.

**_My Dear John_ **


	20. Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ August 11th ~

Mycroft shuffled through the surveillance photos with a frown. John was drinking again. Clever man, moved house before they could bribe off the new shops. He hadn’t returned to Baker Street in three months. Travelling only between work and home, taking no visitors. Mycroft flipped the page to a short printout of clipped phone calls. John still spoke with his sister and Inspector Lestrade in small bursts. No conversation longer than a few minutes, he cut off anyone who even hinted at Sherlock’s name.

Mycroft rubbed at his temples and closed his eyes with a heavy sigh.

“Sir?” Anthea knocked gently and entered with a new file folder. “Delta team says he’s been spotted, sir.”

“Oh,” he slipped John’s face back inside the manila envelope and accepted the new intel from his assistant. “Thank you.”

“Shall I inform the men?”

“Yes,” Mycroft flipped through the new folder. “I believe it’s time. Have Marcus bring the car round back.”

“Yes, sir,” Anthea nodded and left.

Mycroft set the folder aside and pulled a small key from his waistcoat. He unlocked the top drawer to his left and pulled a single envelope free. His brother’s name in John’s neat black script on its face.

Mycroft stood, carefully securing the letter inside his breast pocket. “Time to come home little duckling. He needs you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the huge time jump, all in due time my dear. xx


	21. Soon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ November 4th ~

“How are you doing?” Greg gave John a squeeze, a bit reluctant to drop the hug. He hadn’t seen the man in months and dark circles under his eyes did not bode well.

“Fine, yeah, I’m fine,” John lied. He waved Greg inside, his new apartment all white walls and empty spaces. No decoration or warmth. He watched Greg sit beside the window and place a small box atop the table. “What’s all this?”

“Just some things of..uh.. Sherlock’s,” Greg answered. “Cleaning my desk out and I thought you might want them.”

“Yeah.. okay,” John leaned forward to better see the contents.

“Odds and ends mostly, but this,” Greg pulled a case from the box. “Do you remember that video he made you? For your birthday?”

“Of course,” John answered, eyeing the DVD player where that very disc had sat on replay for months.

“This is the unedited version,” Greg handed it over.

“I probably won’t watch it, but thanks.”

“No worries,” Greg stood to leave, “See you tomorrow?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure..” John didn’t look up from the DVD.

* * *

“I’m going to be with you again very soon.”

John paused the video and listened, his heart racing. There was no way--

The doorbell chimed again.

_No. It can’t be._

Just in case, he tossed back his drink before going down.


	22. Delivery

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ November 4th cont ~

“Sherlo-- Oh,” John’s face fell. He wasn’t upset with the lovely young woman stood on his front stoop as much as he hated himself for hoping. If even for a second.

“Doctor Watson,” Anthea greeted, fingers busy texting.

“Hello,” John ground out through clenched teeth. “Please tell your boss it’s perfectly legal for a man to drink in his own home. And I would appreciate it--”

She laughed, pocketing her phone, “Get dressed.” Then, slipping her gloves back on, she paused to look John over, “Something nice.”

John flushed in annoyance, rolled his eyes and watched as Anthea walked back to the black car across the street. He shouted out to the darkened windows, “You could ring me you know? On my phone?” before slamming his door and stomping back upstairs to change.

\---

Mycroft sat silent the entire way. Staring out the side window and fiddling the chain of his pocket watch.

John had fully rehearsed an indignant speech before he’d seen those eyes. Mycroft looked worn down, beaten in a way he’d never seen before. His heart sank. _If Sherlock was still alive, Mycroft would know about it. Something must have--_

“We’re here,” The car came to a halt and Anthea opened John’s door, sitting back, waiting for him to exit.

John slid across the seat and stepped out, “Angelo’s?”


	23. Real

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ November 4th cont ~

Sherlock shifted in his seat, hands busied with folding and unfolding John’s letter. He’d read it fifty-seven times over the past week. According to Mycroft.

He closed his eyes, rehearsing. _I’ve missed you. I’m sorry I hurt you. Please, forgive me?_ Sherlock hoped he could get the words out before John stormed off. Statistically speaking, his chances of forgiveness were less than naught point eight percent. But he had to try.

A chair abruptly scraped across the floor and pulled him from his thoughts.

“John,” the name punched from his lungs like a prayer and Sherlock blinked, willing the illusion to stay.

“Sher--” John choked on the name, blinking back tears. He clutched the table between them. His legs gone numb and useless.

Sherlock jumped up, rounding the table and placing a hand at John’s elbow.

The contact was electric.

“You’re real,” John said, looking up.

“As are you,” Sherlock smiled. He paused, trying to remember what it was he’d meant to say. “John, I.. I’m--”

“You utter.. you.. ponce!” John lashed out, punching Sherlock’s shoulder. But Sherlock grabbed his wrist and pulled John closer, locking them in an impromptu hug. John sighed, defeated.

“Oh,” Sherlock loosened his grip, the touch of metal beneath his fingers, “you found it then.”

“I hate you,” John mumbled into Sherlock’s chest.

“No you don’t.”


	24. Home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ November 5th ~

“Come home?”

“Of course.”

“Today?”

“Yes.”  
____

Sherlock busied himself with the fire as John shook dust from the drapes. They each settled to their respective armchairs, eighteen months of tension melting from their bones in a pair of contented sighs.

“When I was in Afghanistan,” John spoke after a while, “I would dream about home every night. And in the daytime I would feel this longing. It wasn’t an actual place so much as a feeling I missed. Do you know what I mean?”

“Yes,” Sherlock smiled and stood. He crossed the small gap between them to settle at John’s feet, his chin coming to rest on the man’s knee. “Is this.. okay?”

“Yeah,” John agreed, teasing his fingers in Sherlock’s hair. He couldn’t explain how he knew, but even the small space between their chairs was hateful. A yawn stole across his face and John paused his petting to stretch.

“You look exhausted, John,” Sherlock’s brand of sardonic tenderness was back and John couldn’t help himself from smiling at the familiarity.

“Could say the same for you,” his hands settled back to teasing through dark curls. Smiling when Sherlock tried and failed to hide his own yawn.

“m’fine,” Sherlock mumbled. He closed his eyes and nestled in closer.

If Mrs. Hudson found them asleep soon after, she didn’t say.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Christmas Eve~! xx


	25. I Know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ December 25th ~

John ran fibercloth over the chain until he could see his smile reflected in every link. Satisfied, he fastened the watch back on his wrist. Checking the time and taking a moment to appreciate the beautiful opal face. A mix of grey-blue-green which first drew his eye so long ago. But it was Sherlock’s personalization beneath which made the gift special.

Engraved with three simple words, **_My Dear John_**.

“I’d meant to write more,” Sherlock spoke behind him. John jumped and turned, finding Sherlock in the door frame, saddling him with a warm smile. “But there wasn’t enough space for _bravest, kindest and wisest man I have ever had the privilege to know and love_.”

“Sherlock,” John began, crossing to meet him. “You don’t owe me anything, we’ve sorted all that, yeah?”

His smile faltered, Sherlock reaching forward to grab John by the jumper and pull him closer. “You’ve said as much… and yet.”

“No,” John lifted Sherlock’s chin, stepping closer. “Don’t get frowny on me today. Not this Christmas.”

“Your letter was just so.. wonderful. Such kind words. You deserve to hear them as well.”

“Idiot,” John rose on his toes and pecked Sherlock on the lips. A thrill he’d yet to get used to. “I already know.”

“How?”

John smiled, pulling Sherlock for a deeper kiss, “You came back.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~ stay tuned for a special 26th chapter ~


	26. Addendum

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ~ John's Letter ~

Sherlock,

Hello. That’s an odd place to start. But it’s been such a long while since we last spoke.

How are you getting on? I hope you’re well, wherever you are. I hope you’re eating and getting enough rest. I hope you’re never bored.

Mostly, I hope you’re not berating yourself for taking too long to get things right. It’s okay. You always do the right thing. Even if I don’t understand it at the time.

I believe you are a good man who truly cares about people. I know you do. I know you care for your brother and Mrs. Hudson and even Greg (yes, that’s his name stop pretending you don’t know. I saw you write it on his birthday card). I know you’ve carved all our names in your heart.

I admit, there were times I doubted whether you truly cared. Sometimes I doubted you were even human. But I know now. I know the only reason you could have had for leaving us the way you did, was because you do care. Deeper than anyone could ever know.

You are a brave, kind, gentle soul and I am sorry the rest of the world never got to see that side of you. I’m sorry the cruelty and darkness ate away at you until it was too much. I’m sorry I didn’t protect you in the end.

If these words should find you, I want you to know that I still believe in you. And, more importantly, I love you. I have always loved you. And every night as I pace our empty flat, conversing with your ghost, there is only one thing I want in all this world..

You.

Please, Sherlock, if you love me. Come home.

 

Yours,

_John Watson_


End file.
